


Escape the Motherloving Nightmare

by Jakaboi



Series: Protection Verse [7]
Category: Video Blogging RPF, escape the night - Fandom
Genre: AU, Bendy and the Ink Machine inspired, Egos AU, Escape the Night inspired, Gen, Protection Verse, Wilford Motherloving Warfstache inspired
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-24
Updated: 2019-05-18
Packaged: 2019-07-16 06:23:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 11,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16080290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jakaboi/pseuds/Jakaboi
Summary: Stuck inside a deady game, Madpat and Natemare are fighting against some unknown opponent. Throw in a long estranged brother and an easily distracted drunken detective, how will they ever see who's really in control?





	1. Enter the New Player

**Author's Note:**

  * For [crazygreatwords (SamWithACrown)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SamWithACrown/gifts).



“I cannot believe you guys.” Joey, the Savant, can’t stop staring at the freshly turned soil as the others throw down their spades. The screams have ended, though nobody is really feeling any better for it.

There’s only eight of them left.

After a moment of silence, Alex, the Novellist turns and moves to leave. His formal jacket is long since abandoned somewhere, his shirt and hair, dishevelled. As he passes, Joey grabs a hold of his arm.

“She didn’t  _deserve_  this.”

“If it wasn’t her, it’d be one of us. It’d be  _you_.” Alex tears his arm from Joey’s grip and gives him a resilient, yet still tired look. “Is  _that_  what you want?”

The Savant doesn’t respond, though he doesn’t have to. One by one, each of them turns from the new grave and walks away. Joey is the last one to leave.

None of them know where they are, how they came to be here. Nobody trusts anybody else, and it’s barely taking anything to get them to turn against each other. It’s a living nightmare with no escape.

With the sacrifice made, the task is complete, and as with every other time so far, they need to return to the Lounge, the small hidden base camp where they’re safe. Safe from the monsters and the demons that roam around this hellish place that God forgot.

Ro, the Jet-Setter is the first through the door, eager to leave that awful scene behind, sweeping in and freezing as she sees a strangely familiar brown-haired man sat in the middle of the floor. In front of him sits a ouija board, all set up and ready to go. His fingers are gently laid on a glass on the board while he swears quietly at it.

“Dirk?!”

Dirk Patrick, the Detective, pushes his way past the others as he hears his best friend of this awful night call for him, though he stops in his tracks as he sees this newcomer, who is no stranger to him. As his hands come to rest on his hips, lightly brushing his jacket out the way, he grumbles.

“Of  _course_ you’d turn up here.”

Lele, the Hustler, all dolled up in her 20s best, enters the room and sneers at the new guy. He’s so scruffy, and smirking. What’s the big joke?

“I’m sorry,  _who_ is this?”

“Dirk’s brother.” the stranger smirks as he rolls his eyes, “Is it really that hard to see the family resemblance?”

It’s true that he’s almost the spitting image of the Detective, the same brown hair, the same slight frame, but this newcomer definitely has something different about him. His hair is more scruffy and out of place, his jaw looks like it’s been punched more than once, and along his left forearm are what looks to be faint black veins crisscrossing over the skin.

“What are you doing with  _that_?” Liza, the Explorer, points to the ouija board before him. With all that’s happened, she is far from trusting of any strange objects that appear out of nowhere. Even less so of any strangers wielding said objects.

“Making a phonecall.” His tone is that of someone who is done with answering stupid questions, and he shakes the glass slightly. “Come on you asshole. I know you’re out there.”

“Language.” The Detective folds his arms in frustration, scowling down at his brother. “ _Why_  are you here?”

“Probably the same reason you are.”

“Wait is he a part of the game?” Ro takes a step back in shock. After everyone who’s already died, someone new is just coming in? “Dirk, is he in the game””

“I don’t think that ouija board works you know.” Safiya, the Investigative Journalist, comments as Dirk attempts to reassure Ro. Just what they need. Another competitor to throw a spanner in the works

“After what we just did, I don’t know that I really want to communicate with the dead.” Shane, the Renegade, adds leaning against a nearby pillar. Honestly, he’s a little intrigued with the twist, careful to make note of how everyone’s reacting and filing it away. Never hurts to have a little extra knowledge.

“Not looking for audience participation.” the stranger snarks. “So if you all could just-”

“Lucas!” The Detective snaps and scowls down at his twin brother, whose fingers finally let go of the glass.

“Well that’s a name you’ve not used in a long time.” Lucas “Mad” Patrick, the Madman, looks up and locks eyes with his brother, a bitter scowl twisting his lips. “What happened to ‘murderer’?”


	2. Going Nowhere Fast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elsewhere....

‘ _Maybe I should let him help. He looks like a good kid, but this is a grown man’s game. A twisted back and forth between me and my adversary. Just as I think I’m getting close to figuring it out, the answer slips through my fingers, like piss in the wind. Maybe, just maybe, I could use the help._ ’

“You do realise that you’re talking out loud right now.” Mare is sat on a nearby table, his feet on the seat of a chair as he leans his chin against his hands, glaring at the leather-jacketed detective. “ I can hear literally  _everything_  you’re saying.”

Abe pauses, his drink raised partway to his lips as he glances to his recently acquired emo-like companion, “…No you can’t.”

“And there’s no ‘ _letting me_ ’ about this.” Mare scowls, sitting up. “I’m not  _ask_ ing your permission.”

With a roll of his eyes, Abe downs the drink, before pointing at the kid, “Look pal, my partner is counting on me-”

“Then he’s going to die waiting for you to pull your  _pretentious_  head out your  _fat_  ass and actually  _do_ something.”

Anger wells within the spirit, the lights overhead flickering violently as he practically shouts. Hours they’ve been sat here, and all this asshat has done is drink the same damn drink, and monologue his woes.

“Well, there’s no need to be rude.” Abe raises the drink to his lips again, it somehow having replenished in the last few moments.

Infuriated, Mare throws an arm towards the detective before gesturing up, and Abe is torn from his seat, his drink falling from his fingers as he’s dragged into the air by some unseen force and held there like a bug on dispay. Within Mare’s eyes burns a firey anger that honestly kind of scares the levitating man.

“Look,  _old man_.” the ghost grits at him, “I may be a kid but I could easily beat your ass back and forth across this bar without even touching you.”

Abe struggles to move but the spirit has a firm hold, so all he manages is to glance down at himself. “I can see that.”

“I don’t know what the fuck is going on here but my friend is counting on me to save his ungrateful ass, and I presume that your partner is waiting for the same.” Mare twists his hand in the air, drawing more than one grunt from the detective as he talks, smirking at the sound, “So how about you shake that empty head of yours until some detective instincts shake loose and let’s get going with actually  _doing something_!”

Mare lets go and the detective drops, crashing to the floor. The lights in this eatery, what’s it called…fat man slim’s?, are still flickering and the air is chilled as Mare takes a breath to try and reign himself in. It’s been a while since he’s let a rage loose and honestly it feels so good.

Glancing to his shattered glass and its spilled contents on the floor, the detective groans and sits up, stretching his back.

“It’s not that easy, kid.” he grunts, slowly making his way to stand, “I don’t know what backed-up crazy house you rocked up from where you can do… _that_ ,” he gestures to the lights that have finally stopped flickering, “but this isn’t exactly Kansas you’ve landed in.”

Mare stalks over to the front doors. He’s already tried to get through them, but they’re locked tight. He can see some kind of strange town beyond them, a little bit like it was thrown together from different time periods but it’s quite a way away from where they are so nobody would even hear them if he shouted.

As Abe brushes down his jacket, he glances towards the spirit. “There are people running around out there, you know. Monsters, too. Freaks and weirdos, but we,” he points between the two of them as he walks across the floor, “are in here for a reason. And I’ve got a feeling it’s not for the regenerating booze.”

On the table where Abe has been sat for the last few hours, another drink, identical the one that just broke, has materialized, waiting for the detective to sit down and take a sip.

Mare folds hims arms and glares at the detective, “And how did you come by that idea?”

Abe reaches up and flicks a switch right next to the door, one that the ghost honestly didn’t notice until now. The room is plunged into darkness, except for the dimmed light through the windows from outside.

Less than ten seconds pass before every bulb flickers back to life, an eerie purple glow casting across the entire room as they throw out UV light. The effect is eerie, all sorts of crazy shadows thrown at the walls. The detective glances over his shoulder  to the wall opposite the door and Mare turns.

In large painted, dripping letters on the wall where moments before there had been nothing, there are three very unnerving words, glowing in full fluorescent glory.

‘ENJOY THE SHOW’

Abe shrugs, “Call it a hunch.”


	3. The Ungodly Machine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two shall enter. One will leave.

Calliope leads them into the basement of the large Victorian house on the outskirts of town. The Hustler enters first, her dazzling costume sparkling next to the dirty brick, a smug look on her face showing her confidence in facing the death challenge. She’s followed closely by the Detective. Like Lele, Dirk was voted for and selected for this battle against the Ungodly Machine, and he has no need to ask who voted for him, he’s pretty certain he knows who it was.

The two of them are lead through the dank and dark towards a large machine, each directed to step into a clear tube at either end of it. As the tubes close, they both know only one of them will open again. And that’s why they haven’t come alone.

A strange mechanical unit stands before each tube and their chosen ‘partner’ steps up to it. The Renegade stands before Lele, his breathing heavy as he takes in everything, attempting to anticipate what he’s about to have to do. The Madman steps up to Dirk’s unit, not even looking at it. Instead the brothers are glaring at each other over the top of it.

“Before you is the Ungodly Machine,” Calliope addresses those at the units, “to recover the artifact, it must be shut down. To do so, it must be forced to malfunction but it will kill the person whose partner does not make it malfunction in time.”

Everyone squirms except Mad, intently watching his brother’s discomfort. Calliope passes a set of blueprints to Shane who looks at it and panics. A bunch of confusing drawings and barely decipherable language It might as well be in Greek for all he can understand.

“Your time is limited. Dawdle and both shall die and a monster will be released.” She holds out an identical set of blue prints to Mad who just raises an eyebrow at her. Placing it down beside him, she moves back from the units. “Good luck.”

They begin in silence, Shane doing his best to figure out what any of it says, turning it over and over as he tries to figure out what it wants him to do. Mad meanwhile assesses the unit. It’s not exactly complex, fairly simple. A brief glance at the blueprints shows they clearly have a way they want him to do it, still he wouldn’t be surprised if they’d included something that would make it so the game couldn’t be beaten. This place seems twisted enough. Luckily there’s more than one way to fuck with a machine.

“I know you voted for me.” Dirk stands within his tube, one hand pressed flush against the glass. There’s no shadow of a doubt in his mind that Lucas is the reason he’s here, and he watches as his brother stands in place, intently looking at the unit between them.

“And yet, when you had to pick someone to keep you alive, you picked  _me_.” Mad doesn’t raise his eyes, instead, running them along one wire that runs around the side. As best as he can tell, it’s for show. How much of this is built to mislead them?

“Because you care more about messing with machines than about human life.”

Shane is rushing through the various instructions, a little panicked as he turns a crank, Lele calling out to him in encouragement. Lucas is doing nothing more than raising his eyebrows as he continues to look at the unit.

“Is that so?”

“That’s why everyone at Drew Studios is dead.”

Mad’s eyes snap up, flaming anger burning within them. Dirk takes half-a-step back from the intensity, his back bumping against the other side of the tube. Lucas has always had a temper but never has the Detective seen it directed his way.

The Madman raises his foot and with a swift kick, boots off one of the machine’s panels, which falls to the floor with a harsh clatter. Behind it are various wires which Mad grabs and tear out, tossing them over his shoulder before grabbing a screwdriver and starting to twist at something that Dirk can’t see.

“What are you doing!” Shane calls across, on his third task and staring in shock.

“Don’t bother about them!” Lele smashes her hand against her tube in frustration as he gets distracted. “Let them lose!”

“Lucas, what are you doing?” Dirk watches his brother reach within the panel, seemingly looking for something and struggling to find it. Nothing Mad does matches Shane’s actions in any way and for a brief moment, Dirk panics that he made a mistake! Lucas is actually going to kill him!

Dirk presses himself as much against the glass as he can, banging a fist against it and crying out. “Lucas please! I don’t want to die!”

There’s a sudden loud clunk as the machine shuts down, dropping into almost complete silence except for the hiss of a toxic gas filling up a tube, and a click as the other tube swings open.

“The Madman has forced the machine to malfunction. I’m sorry Shane, but Lele has not survived.” Calliope says as Dirk steps out.

He and Shane stand and stare in utter shock as Lele’s lifeless form falls against the glass. The game has claimed yet another victim, yet another life lost to the sick monster who trapped them all in this town, but Mad doesn’t seem to care, instead focused on reconstructing his unit again.

As he replaces the final panel, Mad stands.

“That means we get to leave right?” Not bothering to wait for an answer, Mad heads for the door, going out of his way to shove at Calliope as he passes. He doesn’t even look at the machine.

Shane stares after the new guy, his mouth hanging slightly open. Dirk moves to the drawer that popped out after Lele drew her last breath, doing what he can to avoid looking at her grey lifeless body trapped forever in her tube. Pulling out the artifact, he holds it up and the two of them head towards the door.

“Not to be insulting, but your brother is heartless.” Shane mutters quietly.

“You have  _no_  idea.”


	4. The Music Box

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Still in the bar...

There has to be a way out. There has to be! Mare has gone over every square inch of this place trying to find something, anything that will get them out. He’s been trapped before and this time there’s something he can do about it. So like HELL is he going to just sit down and accept his fate. They’ll never get out if he doesn’t find something.

There’s a part of him that thinks this is Mad’s fault. Being an asshole makes a lot of enemies that might come after you for revenge, and Mad is a HUGE asshole. The alternative is that someone has come after _him_ , that it’s _his_ fault, and that’s not a thought he wants to entertain.

Abe is stood in place, having finally been able to leave that damned drink alone for two minutes. His arms are folded and honestly he’s feeling kind of dizzy watching this kid jump about. See he’s not running around, he’s just popping out of existence in one place and instantly appearing somewhere else. Not the first time Abe’s encountered someone who can do that, but this time it certainly freaks him out less.

“You’re wasting your time!” he calls as the kid appears in his direct eyesight for the fifteenth time in about, what, five minutes?

Time doesn’t have any kind of real meaning in this place, as in a second isn’t really a second. After who knows how long watching the clock on the far wall of the room, Abe has come to the conclusion that he doesn’t have a hope of understanding whatever crazy conga the second hand is playing but it’s in no way the one he’s used to. It could easily have been hours since the kid had turned up in here, or it could have been weeks.

Mare doesn’t turn, speaking through gritted teeth. “Be helpful or shut up.” And then he’s gone again.

This place is weird. Mare’s dead, so there shouldn’t be any wall that can stop him, but no matter how hard he concentrates, no matter what part of the wall he presses against, or tries to throw himself through, nothing is happening. Whoever put him here _really_ doesn’t want him to leave.

There’s only one way in or out, the main doorway, locked tight. There’s another door at the top of the stairs but that’s just as locked and impassable and would probably only lead upstairs.

Abe shrugs at the shout. It’s been kind of fascinating to watch the kid lose his freaking mind. It keeps him from worrying about his partner, whether or not he’s okay.

Dirk Patrick. Fresh faced kid. Eager. Smart as those compact cars that only take up half a parking space, and if Abe is lucky, somewhere out in that town still. They’d been snatched up and separated and honestly, Abe had wasted so many non-seconds in this bar. He’d tried every door, he’d searched everywhere for some kind of clue but there was just no two ways about it. They were not getting out of here any time soon.

-Click-

A small patch of wall shunts back, about level with Abe’s head at the bottom of the once again invisible, giant, glowing letters. The panel slides across with a satisfying ssssshh, revealing a hidden area behind. Yeah that’s not skeevy at all.

“Kid?” Abe calls over his shoulder.

“Fuck off!”

Behind the panel there sits a small box, blue and white stripes, and a small metal key sticking out its side. It looks like an old music box. The kind those museums try and sell you in an attempt to gouge parents for more money when the kids didn’t actually give a flying trout about whatever the hell kind of shit they’d just seen. Abe carefully plucks it from its hole.

Hours (or was it days?) Abe has been stuck in here. Nothing has changed. Nothing has moved, or shifted or revealed itself, and now suddenly there’s a music box. Turning it over in his fingers, the detective tries to find a way to open it, but finds nothing. It’s completely sealed. So naturally his fingers find their way to the key.

With the slightest twist, a few plinky notes play out, barely more than two, before the lights go haywire! Flashing and sparking, the temperature dropping and the distinct feeling of something about to attack before the strange ghost kid is in front of him, eyes sunken and murderous as he snatches the box before yeeting it across the room.

It bounces once, twice, tumbling over and over, before finally stopping in the far corner of the room.

Mare turns on Abe, a finger jabbing harshly in the detective’s face.

“NO!”

“The hell was that?!”

-SMACK-

Mare throws every ounce of strength he has into smacking this jackass, and derives a large amount of satisfaction from the sound it yields. He jabs a finger in Abe’s face again, speaking in a firm low tone that leaves no room for discussion.

“If you do that again I will make it my unfinished business to see that you never know another happy day.” he promises.

The two of them glare at each other, each of them daring the other to back down first. Mare’s the one who breaks the tension, the horrific chill still hanging in the air as he steps back and stalks away.

Abe watches him, undeniably shaken but equally as stubborn and every bit as in-need of having the last word. Raising a hand he cups it around his mouth and calls after the kid, “Have you ever considered yoga?”

Mare ignores him, clenching and unclenching his fists in a desperate attempt to keep it together. Once certain that Abe isn’t watching him, he shuffles over to the music box, trying to be subtle as he lifts it from the floor before instantly disappearing and reappearing on the stairs. As he sits he turns the contraption in his hands.

Since he got here, there’s been this unavoidable feeling of something wrong. A distinct sense of unease that is clinging to his chest no matter how he tries to shake it off. There’s _something_ here, more than the kidnap, separation, and entrapment. There’s something there, just out of sight that’s watching him, and knowing their luck, it’s probably watching Mad as well.

It doesn’t look like the box from Fazbear’s, though thinking about it, what did that thing even look like? Did he ever even see it? Either way, he knows this has to be the work of the thing that’s watching, calling him out.

As he looks it over, Mare sees that on the base there are four words written in cursive blue ink, and with barely a glance at it he throws the stupid box at the nearest wall.

“What’s it say?”

Mare jumps, looking up to see Abe stood beside the stairs, far enough away that the ghost hadn’t noticed him beyond the rails. Taking a deep breath, and letting his shoulders sag, Mare leans against a rail.

“Remembering is the key.” Mare is staring at the music box, wondering if there’s anything he can do to destroy the thing, only half meaning it.

“And I’m guessing you don’t want to remember.” Glancing up, he sees Abe is staring at him with a firm but not forceful glare. “Kid I don’t think they’re gonna give us another way out of here.”

Mare just glares back. He doesn’t care.“Piss off.”

Abe gives a deep sigh and heads off to the tables again. “I need another drink.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last update until after Christmas.  
> Wishing you and yours a happy day,


	5. Still In Sync

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some things are as natural as breathing...

Silence reigns as they approach the great granite doorway stood in the middle of a clearing on the far edge of town. It’s attached to no building, but they’ve all learned by now that that means nothing. There’s a large stone stood to either side of the doorway, the outer sides each sporting four colored buttons.

The premise is simple. Two of them, selected by vote, will remain behind, keeping the door open by sharing and inputting the color codes that light up on the opposite stone. So long as they enter the correct codes in time, the doors will remain open. Meanwhile, the rest of the group will pass through the doorway to retrieve the artefact from the Demon’s Keep. For every mistake made, a gong will sound and the door will begin to close. Once the doors shut they will not be opening again.

“Wait,” Shane is more than a little concerned as he unconsciously steps back, “Are you saying there’s a chance we could basically _all_ die in this?”

“You say that like you’re surprised.” Lucas, the Madman, is bringing up the rear, wearing the same look of disinterest that he’s worn for every task that has lead them here.

This vote isn’t like the others. They’re not voting for someone to die, they’re voting for who is going to keep the rest of them alive. Even so it’s not easy to keep the underlying angers, grudges, and annoyance from their minds as they each cast their vote.

The Savant is the first to be drawn, definitely uneasy and not sure whether to feel relieved that he has no chance of dying, or afraid that he has so many lives resting in his hands.

No one is surprised as Calliope raises the Madman’s card, a perfect recreation of Lucas’s face, right down to the aggravated black lines across his skin. Everyone, save for his brother is honestly a little afraid of him. Why is he in this game? How can he care so little about the consequences? You’d be hard pressed to find someone who would find it a shame were he to die.

Dirk stares at his brother, trying to get a read on him, but there’s nothing but stoic annoyance on the idiot’s face. It takes quite a shove from Ro to finally get Dirk’s attention, the Jet-Setter raising her eyebrows and very not-subtley inclining her head at Lucas.

The two of them had had a brief talk earlier, away from the rest of the group. A quiet discussion in which she heavily implied that Lucas is not being entirely truthful about something and maybe Dirk should try and get it out of him. No doubt she thinks this might be the perfect opportunity for the two of them to talk.

“Wait,” The Detective steps forward, a hand raised, drawing everyone’s attention to him. “I volunteer to take Joey’s place.”

“You can’t do that.” Liza says sternly, honestly just wanting to go through that door and back again. The sooner this starts, the sooner it will be over.

“I don’t mind!” Joey interjects, and everyone turns to Calliope.

She glances between them all, pausing before saying, “If everyone agrees.”

Before the group has a chance to devolve into chaotic arguments that just waste time they probably don’t have, Dirk raises his hands and speaks firmly and confidently.

“Has anyone heard of the single-soul theory?”

The general confusion would suggest the answer is probably no, though Safiya gets a curious look on her face. Not surprising; of the group, she’s the one Dirk would expect to have at least heard of it. But the only response he’s watching for is his brother’s

You can practically hear the cogs turn as the unspoken message is received and Lucas shrugs.

“I say we let him do it.”

The twins each step up to one of the stones, able to see over them to the other side while the group stands in nervous anticipation between them. Nobody trusts the apparent simplicity of this task, there’s probably something very sinister at work here but there’s no time to dwell.

“Blue, red, green, green.” Lucas calls out the first code and Dirk punches it in on his stone.

The doors swing wide, neither of the twins able to see through it from their standpoint, only able to watch as the group walks through.

“Green, blue, yellow, red.” Dirk calls back.

Time passes, both of them losing track of it as they continue to put in the codes. The air between them is tense and awkward but they’re used to it by now.

Lucas is the one to break the silence.

“I didn’t think you believed in the single-soul theory.”

A widely speculated but mostly unsubstantiated theory that twins are born as a single soul shared between two bodies. As they grow, they become more individual while managing to maintain a mental and spiritual closeness that is unobserved in the rest of the population.

“Neither of us has said a single color in the last five minutes,” Dirk points out, “yet we haven’t missed a code.”

He would hardly call himself a believer of the theory, but he’s more of a skeptic than a naysayer. Maybe when they were younger, when they did everything together, and people struggled to tell them apart, he would have believed it but when they were about twelve years old, something changed. Dirk had assumed it was something to do with puberty, or maybe there was something in their environment, but Lucas started to push him away. He started to push  _everyone_  away no matter how hard they tried to reach him, and after what happened at Drew Studios, everything just fell to Heck.

Reaching across he presses the yellow button, then green, then the blue twice, his hand guided by instinct. After a moment, his lights blink out a new sequence; the code was correct. Yeah, there’s definitely something here.

“Why did you  _really_ volunteer?” Lucas asks as he puts in the next code, unprompted.

“Ro said you keep getting this look,”

“What look?”

“Like you’re hiding something.”

“Ah. So you want to keep an eye on me.”

Dirk glances up at his brother. Lucas is skinny, clearly unwell, his hair’s all over the place and even beyond that he has an air of scruffiness about him. Though the guy has been AWOL for the last few years, and Dirk won’t even pretend to know what happened to him, he can see that Ro was right. There’s just…. _some_ thing this guy isn’t saying.

“What I  _want_ is to help you.”

The laugh Lucas gives is hollow and almost makes Dirk want to punch him. “I’m beyond your help, little brother.”

Dirk scowls. “ _You’re_  the little brother.”

A shriek beyond the door, snaps both their attention to it.

“Was that-?”

“Dirk, what’s the code?”

Whatever link they may have had before is broken, the Madman staring blankly at the lights, blindly reaching for the instinct that had been driving him before, but grasping at nothing. His anxiety quickly spikes. Dirk is distracted, oblivious, staring at the door.

“Dirk!” Lucas snaps, finally getting his brother’s attention long enough to look at the code.

“Yellow, red, bl-” he starts.

A high-pitched scream sounds from beyond and that’s it. The Detective slams his hand on top of the stone, easily vaulting it in one leap and rushing for the door. As he passes just through the arch, a loud gong sounds. They’ve missed a code.

He skids to a stop as the doors slightly close in on him, just barely past the arch, hearing Lucas shouting obscenities but it’s too late at this point, the only thing they can do is make sure the others make it through the door in time.

Beyond the door is an empty grey hallway that turns off a short way down the path, filled with a foul stench that the Detective would rather not identify, though it’s strong enough to topple an army. If he were to guess, this hallway is near the heart of the Demon’s Keep and the group can’t be that far away.

Dirk cups his hands round his mouth and shouts, his voice bouncing off the walls. Within less than a minute, Safiya, Alex, and Liza speed into view, all of them passing Dirk without a second thought as he continues to call out. Shane isn’t far behind, carrying the artefact, only stopping for a second as Dirk grabs a hold of his arm.

“Where’s Ro?”

“I don’t know,” Shane gasps, not really comfortable being stopped so close to being on the good side of the door, “She was with Joey.” With that the Renegade pulls out his grip and runs through the door.

Another gong sound and the doors close a little more again. There’s just barely enough room for a person to pass through at this point, and after the next one, the doors will close.

That’s all the motivation he needs, ready to dash forward and carry the others back to the door if he has to. Before he can even take a step, firm and desperate fingers grasp tightly to the Detective’s wrist, holding fast and not allowing him to move even slightly.

Lucas, having slid through the small gap in the doors has a tight hold of his brother and tries to drag him back through. There’s no reason for all of them to die.

“Let me go!” The Detective rages, twisting and turning in an attempt to break free. He’s sick of all this death. Is it too much to want to finish one game with every single person still breathing? Is that such a crime! Is that such a bad thing! But Lucas is nothing if not stubborn, holding tight and refusing to let go. Of course it’s beyond his understanding. Why would a murderer understand!

‘ _What happened to murderer?’_

Dirk’s struggle stumbles as he realises what he’s just thought, unintentionally proving his brother’s distrust of him right. Lucas takes full advantage of it, bending to throw the Detective over his shoulder and just barely managing to squeeze them both through the barely open doorway, just as the final gong sounds. The doors thud shut behind them.

Everyone is gasping as Dirk is thrown to the floor, each of them shaking with adrenaline and fear, none of them okay with what they’ve just lived through.

“I’m sorry.” They all jump, having forgotten Calliope was still there, turning to her with looks of utter heartbreak. “The Jet-Setter did not make it.”

Joey steps from beside the door, clearly shaken and afraid. He must have slipped by while the brothers were fighting.

Dirk’s movements are slow as he pushes himself to stand again, chest awash with a hateful mix of confusion and anger. She didn’t deserve this! She didn’t deserve to be left behind! If Lucas would have just-

A loud -SMACK- splits the air as the Madman’s hand slaps the Detective across the face. A hand raised to his reddened cheek, Dirk stares in shock as his brother begins to scream at him.

“I needed the fucking code!” the pure rage pushes everyone but Dirk away. “And why did you run in-”

Words devolve into heavy coughing, Lucas seemingly choking on his own anger as he screams, only the words aren’t continuing and the coughing only gets worse.

A hand against Dirk’s chest shoves him back as the Madman bends double practically hacking his lungs inside out while he attempts to drag any amount of breathable air into them.

When he straightens up, his right eye is almost completely black, while the veins that litter his already too pale skin have stretched even further across it.

Everyone stares, none of them sure of how to process whatever it is they’ve just witnessed. As Lucas looks over them all, they step back, a predatory look in his eyes and a shiver running down their backs. Only the Detective stands firm, meeting his brother’s stern glare with his own look of determination.

“We should leave.” Lucas growls, a strange and honestly terrifying gutteral tone to his voice that none of them have heard before. With a scowl, the Madman steps forward, around his brother, striding angrily towards the others who part before him like the red sea.

Once he’s gone, the strange oppressive feeling they hadn’t noticed in the last few minutes was suddenly gone and they all shared worried looks.

“Is it just me or does anyone else  _not_ feel safe around that guy?” Joey asks.


	6. A Losing Battle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some parts of the past will never stay buried...

The Madman strides across the water, one foot in front of the other. Honestly, he’s a little fascinated by the fact that despite there seemingly being nothing beneath the glassy surface, his feet are definitely hitting something solid allowing him to push his way onwards. If he could be seen from the shore it would probably looks like he’s walking on water and frankly he kind of loves that idea. Several feet to his left, Alex, the Novellist matches his stride, also chosen by vote to face this challenge.

The Maddening Fog. A thick fog that sits low above this body of water. It supposedly swallows the sanity of any and all who enter, and in exchange for one of them, it will apparently relinquish its hold on the thing they’re supposed to be collecting. Two of them have entered, but only one of them shall leave.

Not that Mad is worried. ‘Maddening Fog’, give me a break. He said ‘sayonara’ to his sanity several years ago and there’s little that can shake him. There’s nothing that it can throw at him; no skeletons in his closet. Let it just try and get him.

All he has to do is keep walking, the air around him becoming thick and soupy, growing denser until even the sky above is swallowed by it. With every step, it weighs down on him, the water from the air surely soaking into his clothes, pressing into his skin and leaving him feeling gross. Still he keeps moving

The air is a creepy kind of silent now, the sounds of the town they’ve been running around having disappeared. Birds, water, random screams, everything is silenced. A vacuum of sound, the kind of pure silence you feel in your bones. He’s been in worse places, or so he thought.

“Lukey!”

The sudden chipper, Irish voice cuts through the fog like a knife and he freezes, glancing around in a panic. No.  _That_  voice is impossible. The water sloshes around his feet as he slowly sinks, but in a moment, he’s moving again. He has to keep moving, or he’ll sink beneath the water. And that voice isn’t real. It  _can’t_  be real!

A figure steps from the fog beside him. Scruffy, stubble, splotches of ink across his apron, a few on his arms; the sign of a hard worker at Drew Studios. On his face sits a big grin, one that Mad can still remember making him feel welcome, but now it’s just hollow and haunting.

“You don’t look very well. Like you’ve seen a ghost.” says the figure.

“Fuck off.” Mad barely mutters as he passes by, not even breaking his stride, continuing on, refusing to stop. No. This isn’t happening. This isn’t real. He refuses to face it. He won’t let it reach him.

“You’re  _not_  a friend.” For every step that Mad takes, the figure is still nearby, not very far at all, though he doesn’t appear to take any steps. There’s no escaping him.

Sure, it may look like Shawn Flynn, the guy who was supposed to instruct Lucas during his brief apprenticeship working on the fabled ‘ink machine’ at Drew Studios, but Mad is no fool.

“My ol’ ma used to say, if it looks like a duck and quacks like a duck, it’s probably a duck.” ‘Shawn’ folds his arms, pulling at his cap in that nervous habit he always seemed to have.

“ _Or,”_ Mad suggests, “it’s something sinister pretending to be a duck.”

The dollmaker sighs and glances  to the side, over the inky black water. “You could have saved us, you know.”

“I did.”

“You  _killed_  us.”

“You were already dead.” Mad’s footsteps begin to slow, though he focuses as much as he can on putting one foot in front of the other.

Sure there were people, but he soon figured out they were puppets. Shadows of the people who once worked there, all working with the singular goal of helping Bendy to break free of the power that bound him to the Studio,  “I did what I had to to stop Him.”

“….did you?”

Mad’s stops dead. “Bendy is  _dead_.”

“Now you and I both know that’s not strictly true.” Shawn’s hands sit on his hips, tilting his head slightly as he gives a wry smirk. “As long as there is an ink grunt, Bendy can and  _will_ ,come back.”

“I killed them.” He burned Drew Studios to the ground, burning away every last drop of ink. Without it, Bendy can never come back. No ritual sacrifices, no ultimate power or enslavement. Bendy has no power here.

Shawn smiles, shaking his head. Reaching one finger up, it comes to rest on Mad’s chest.

“Not all of them.”

Mad stands there, the lake’s icy water slowly creeping its way up his legs, chilling him to the bone as he closes his eyes.

One of them got him. At the last second, as he was setting the fire, desperate to break his way out of the studios seventh circle, one of the grunts got him and though every other drop burned in that Hell hole, one small part remained….in Mad’s lungs.

Each day it spreads, getting worse and worse, stripping away more and more of him and one day it will leave nothing but a monster husk like the ones he found in Drew Studios.

One day, Mad will be gone, and if this night is any indicator, there will be celebrations as he becomes one of the monsters. Mad…..Lucas…will cease to be. Bendy will find a way to rise and the suffering will start again.

“You know you could stop it right now.” Shawn has moved, standing sideways on now, giving a shrug, “Just stay right where you are and the lake will keep the ink from ever reaching anyone else.”

Mad blinks, suddenly realising he’s up to his waist in the water. He wades, arms oustretched for the next platform. It  _has_ to be there. He can’t be past the point of no return yet. Mad is  _not_  giving up, this  _isn’t_ over!

He doesn’t want to die. Even though it would save the world. Even though no one wants him alive, probably not even Natemare. The asshole has to be sick of Mad by now. Why else isn’t he here? Why did he run to those weirdos? It doesn’t matter, he doesn’t care. He doesn’t need anyone. Not his parents, not his brother. Let them think him a murderer. He doesn’t need anyone to get him out of this. Just like he didn’t need them to get out of the ink.

Mad’s hand finds something solid and he heaves, scrabbling to hoist himself onto the next platform which immediately begins to sink beneath his weight.

Without hesitating he drags himself to his feet and starts to shuffle, having to go a bit slower than before as he drips water from his entire lower body. The last thing he needs is to slip, fall and break his neck.

So he keeps going, like he always does. Maybe he starts crying. Nobody will see. Shawn doesn’t count. He isn’t real. The spectre keeps talking, but Mad just blocks him out. He doesn’t have to last forever, just longer than Alex and then he can walk out of here and it will be over.

Who knows how long it’s been when the invisible platform beneath Mad’s feet suddenly lights up, then the next, then the next, the light bright enough to cut through the fog.

“What the-?”

“You won.” Shawn explains, giving a brief cheery wave that makes Mad want to vomit before fading away. A sudden weight appears in Mad’s hand. The artefact. He did it…..he survived. Once again, the best thing he could have hoped for.

Mad runs, following the lit pathway back to the shore, the journey a lot shorter this time around, seeing all the disappointed faces as his feet tread on the solid ground again. He looks like a half-drowned rat but everyone looks terrified of him. Mad ignores them, walking over to Dirk who’s staring at his twin in shock. Mad shoves the artefact at his chest, forcing Dirk to take it, before shoving past him and heading back into town.

Nobody asks about the challenge. Nobody says a word to Mad. They probably think he drowned Alex with his own hands. It doesn’t matter. Let them think him a murderer.

Be smart, he tells himself. Somebody is fucking with them over this, but he is done playing nice. They want him to play? He’ll play, and he’ll play to win. He may be heading towards a fate worse than death but that doesn’t mean he can’t turn this night around. Twist it on it’s head, change the rules and come out on top in the end. If they want him to go down, he’ll go down kicking and screaming, tearing every shred of this nightmare down around them with him.


	7. (Im)Perfect By Design

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You may think that you know how this is going to play out, but you don't.

The room is filled with workbenches, shelves, and various random items, seemingly hundreds of them scattered across every surface. It was probably abandoned several years ago if the dust and cobwebs are any indicator. Everything in the room speaks of steampunk stylings, except for the damaged droid to one end of the room. Humanoid, gear and cog-free, completely devoid of dust and spiders, and one arm disconnected from the main chassis, it’s undeniably the most hi-tech thing in the room and just doesn’t match the main punky aesthetic. Oh, and with it’s slim face, brown hair, and blank brown eyes, it just so happens to look  _exactly_  like Dirk and Lucas. Something that doesn’t unnerve the Detective at all. Nope.

The Madman himself is on the opposite side of the room, handcuffed to a surprisingly strong pipe. His arm is stretched as far as he can get it, while a nasty red welt is visible beneath the cuff where he’s all but broken his wrist in an attempt to pull free, The idiot ran head first into a trap in an earlier room and was already restrained when they came in.

The rest of the remaining group are scattered throughout the room, scouring through every item they can in a desperate search for the final piece that Calliope has tasked them with finding. The aim is to find the pieces that will allow them to fix the droid, but this small, black gear is impossible to find and they’re running out of time.

It’s unspoken but understood by everyone that if they don’t find this piece, then Lucas is probably going to die. Not that the infected man seems bothered by this, his attention completely consumed by the robot, watching it with an eagle eye and yelling to the others that they need to fix it. Of course Dirk’s brother is more concerned with the machine than his own safety.

As he circles the room, the Detective repeatedly glances between the doppelganger droid and his brother. It doesn’t take too much of a stretch to guess that machine-mad Lucas probably made it. As for why it looks like them, well that’s not something he really wants to dwell on.

“You are out of time.” Calliope calls out and everyone turns. She has spent the time quietly circling the room, collecting the items as the team bring them to her, holding them safely in her hands. As the others gather, their faces are solemn, angered at being unable to find the final part. Meanwhile, Calliope moves towards Lucas, plucking a key from a nearby shelf before unlocking the handcuff that restrains him.

Everyone watches in silent confusion as the Madman glares with his black empty eyes at the gypsy, rubbing absently at his wrist until she nods gesturing across the room. He doesn’t need telling twice and all but launches himself across the room, sliding to a stop on his knees beside the droid. Joey, the Savant, has to leap out the way to avoid getting knocked aside as Lucas dashes past.

The others soon start to fight, arguing back and forth, throwing around the finger of blame like it’s going to explode in their face at any moment. Dirk’s attention though is focused on his brother as he steps closer.

Over the years he’s always been mildly fascinated by his brother’s works. The various machines that he would make, or take apart. Just what was it about them? What was the appeal? How did he approach it? Lucas has always been kind of secretive so growing up he’d never really had a chance to watch and this is an opportunity too rare to pass up.

Panicked hands quickly pass over the chassis, carefully pull it together before reaching to grab something from a nearby workbench. Each movement is clearly calculated, no motion wasted, though he’s clearly frantic, fingers shaking, continually muttering to himself, though Dirk can’t hear a word he says. Once in a while something slips from his fingers, but it doesn’t discourage him, picking it up and continuing as though it never happened. It’s probably the calmest, and most in control he’s seen his brother in a good number of years.

Lucas stretches for something nearby, but it’s just out of reach, still the Madman strains. Without thinking, Dirk steps over and picks it up holding it out for his brother to take. They lock eyes and Lucas stares at him a moment, honestly looking kind of monstrous with his clawed fingers and eyes, still he carefully takes the item from his brother.

It continues on like this, Lucas describing a part as best he can, voice angry but muted, clearly struggling to hold it together while Dirk will fetch it for him. Within five minutes, the Madman is carefully reattaching the arm and must flick a switch or something because suddenly life sparks within the droid’s dead eyes, the cold brown quickly becoming warm as it blinks up at them.

Looking between the two brothers, the droid frowns.

“This can’t be good.” it comments, eyes flitting to Lucas before sitting up. “Mad?”

Dirk frowns, glancing to his brother. “Mad?”

“Damage assessment.” Lucas instructs.

The droid closes its eyes, its head tilting slightly. “Nothing structurally, minimal software corruption.” It opens its eyes again and levels a familiar glare at Lucas. “Where’s Mare?”

“This is-” Dirk gently shakes his head, honestly not sure how to react to anything at this point, but then something clicks and he swings around to look to the others. “Wait.”

Across the room, beyond the others still bickering, Calliope still stands, hands calmly folded and still clasping the items they’d gathered. Dirk hadn’t needed to go to her for a single thing.

“Quiet!” Leaping to his feet, his shout silences the others as they turn to him in confusion. “This wasn’t a normal game.”

“What?” Safiya, the Investigative Reporter, glances between them.

“We didn’t find the last piece, so the droid should be unfixable.” Dirk gestures over his shoulder to the functioning droid. “But we didn’t even  _need_ those parts. So what were we even doing?”

“Very observant, Detective.” Calliope congratulates him, giving a sly smile as she carefully places the items in her hand on a nearby table. “This was a trap. To catch the saboteur.”

Shane, the Rogue, steps towards the gypsy, a face like thunder. “Wait, someone’s screwing with the game?”

“Of course there are no cameras in Everlock, so we had to bring in a little outside help.” she gestures towards the droid. Lucas has managed to climb to his feet, clawed black hand curled protectively as he purposefully places himself firmly in front of the robot.

“I don’t much appreciate people messing with my property.” he almost growls.

Calliope ignores the barely veiled threat and instead addresses the droid directly.

“Galileo. Who has the final piece?”

The droid has one hand on the Madman’s shoulder, as though it intends to hold him back, though none of them think it would have the strength to do it. At the request it glances to Lucas, who’s a bit hyperfocused on the gypsy.

“Mad?” It asks.

Barely turning to glance over his shoulder, Lucas gives a slight nod and the droid raises his hand and points. Everyone holds their breath in that moment, time seeming to run slow as the finger draws upwards, crossing through the air before coming to rest….

On the Explorer.

“She has the gear in her pocket.” the droid says.

Everyone turns

“Liza?” Joey asks, putting out an arm to stop Shane who steps forward, anger on his face.

The Explorer looks between them, her face becoming stony as she takes a step back from them “I did what I thought I had to.”

“By messing with the game?” Shane practically spits the words out and tries again to step forward, but Joey turns and forces him back muttering to him.

Safiya speaks up. “You know, someone could have died.”

“That’s probably what she was going for.” The droid has managed to gently push Lucas to one side, and keeps one hand on his shoulder. “I’ve only been active about five minutes but from what I can gather, she most likely intended for someone to suffer permanent consequences for the task’s failure.

“She’s voted for me in the last four death challenges.” Lucas comments.

“That’s  _supposed_  to be private.” Liza’s fists are clenched at her sides in anger as she glares at him.

“Then  _may_ be you should try not being obvious.”

“Look at him!” Liza blurts, desperately looking between the others. “ _Look_ at what is happening to him! As long as he’s in the game,  _none_ of us are safe! He-!”

Flames burst into life around her and Liza’s words are lost in a soul-twisting scream of agony while the others leap away. She writhes and twists as though held in place as they cruelly lash at her, rising high around her before finally extinguishing, allowing the Explorer’s charred corpse to fall to the ground.

Behind her, Calliope stands, hand raised to where Liza had been stood, a stern look on her face.

“Obey the rules and you  _may_ survive..” There is no room for questions in her tone. It’s not up for debate.

Nobody says a word. They stand in shocked silence until Calliope leads them out.

There are five of them left. Well five, and one droid. Is the droid now in the game? Lucas has this look that says it’s not going to happen. Either way, the numbers are low, and though it’s been a long night, the risk suddenly feels that more real. How many of them are even going to survive? Is this going to be last man standing?

Dirk shudders as though someone has just walked over his grave. There’s this awful feeling, just in the base of his gut, that he might not make it through this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Galileo aka Léo is a robo!Matpat ego of my own creation.


	8. Remembering is the Key

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The past will never die.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you read As You Know Them, you may recognise the beginning but I've adjusted it for expansion so be sure to read it.

Mare frowns, tilting his head to look across the bar from his perch on the stairs. His fingers are still tightly clasped around the music box while Abe, the probably-at-least-partway-drunk detective, stands across the room, leaning against the pillar with the light switch. The replenishing whiskey shot glass is in his hand, and he’s talking, probably saying something about playing the box, words slurring together a little, but Mare doesn’t notice, instead, hearing pinging, whooping, children laughing, digitized music. The kind of cacophonous noise that you’d hear in an arcade. Pushing up from the stairs, Mare grips at the bannister as he whistles to get Abe’s attention.

“Do you hear-”

Darkness.

For a singular moment, a flash of black surrounds him, silencing everything around the ghost but as soon as it’s gone, everything comes back. There’s a soft thud as the music box hits the floor, Mare’s hands covering his face as he fights to block out the noise. It’s the noise, the arcade! It’s Fazbears’! No! He didn’t play it! He didn’t-!

Void. Blackness.

The cold encroaching feeling of ‘The End’ wrapped around him, as something pulls on him, on his soul, after all, that’s all that’s left of him any more.

The world returns but so does the arcade noise and despite being dead, Mare can’t breathe, panicking while his head aches and the whooping, and the clanging and the noises get louder and louder.

Muffled words. A hand on his shoulder. Abe? Mare blinks, tears dripping from his eyes, when did he start crying? He’s no longer on the stairs, instead pressed up against a wall and Abe is right in front of him. Angry and afraid, Mare shoves the detective back, pushing him away with as much force as he can muster, which at this point isn’t very much.

Black, vast, nothing once again, though this time he can feel something moving within it. It swirls and swishes, moving around as though it has no weight, no real form, holding back, watching him. He tries to shout, but there are no words in this void, he tries to run but there’s nowhere to go. The blackness watches him, not like a predator, but still the ghost’ feels far from safe as it continues to watch. No form, no words, no way to see it coming as it rushes at him, knocking him back into the world.

Mare slams against the ground, everything hurting as he lays there, his entire being sore and aching while he struggles to slow his breathing. There’s a thud beside him and a hand on his shoulder. Abe probably, calling out to him, trying to draw him back but Mare is drifting, his eyes slipping closed.

……. _Shouting doesn’t work_.  _No matter how loud, how long, in people’s faces, in their ears, standing in front of them waving like a loon. Nothing works. Nobody sees him. Nobody hears. Nobody listens._

_It’s a while after Nate stops shouting that he realises what happened. Weeks have definitely passed by this point, maybe months. He saw a cop come in once but they didn’t stay long, and they didn’t hear him either. Most of the days pass in a haze, a long drawn out unending nightmare from which he feels like he’ll never wake up. Until another kid dies._

_He finds Susie curled up in the kitchen in fits of tears. Nobody hears her as she cries for her mommy (oh shit did his mom ever look for him?) but Nate is there, to hug her and tell her she’s not alone. Exactly what he didn’t have. Less than two weeks later, they find Jeremy._

_His spirit is hidden behind the Bonnie animatronic, peering out around at the chaos that is Freddy Fazbear’s. When they ask why he’s hiding, he says that Bonnie promised to protect him from the security guard. The same one they hate._

_Then more children die, until, less than a month after Susie, there are six new spirits as well as Nate wandering the halls. All of them alone and afraid. The animatronics, though old, and smelly, and broken, and unable to say more than their pre-programmed phrases, protect them, allowing these poor lost souls to follow them wherever they please._

_Spooky things start happening at the restaurant. Chairs move, plates go flying, the animatronics activate and react to things that aren’t there. Rumours quickly spread and guest numbers start to dwindle. Less customers means downsizing, which means less staff, which means that the Guard is now working the night shift._

_During the day there’s other people. There’s noise and chaos and distraction, but at night, it’s just him and the children, and they’re terrified. The animatronics try to protect them, but the Night Guard just laughs and takes them apart before the children’s eyes, leaving them in pieces on the floor. Eventually even the techs can’t fix Foxy and the management turn a blind eye, shutting down Pirate’s Cove and hiding the pirate fox away._

_Something has sparked within Nate, an unmitigated anger that just burns brighter with each night. If they had tried harder to find him none of this would have happened. If they had looked they would have found the murderer, the guy who walks around looking at the kids like they’re prime rib. This is all their fault! If they had just looked-! _Management doesn’t care, so Nate decides that if they won’t do something, he will.__

_Except it all goes wrong. The Night Guard does something and when Nate tries to attack, he ends up trapped, helpless, unmoving in the darkness of the marionette. He screams and fights and yells but doesn’t move, and just like before, nobody sees, nobody hears. It’s like a death within death and Nate is once again alone._

_After a month, he watches as the Night Guard is captured in an old deadly suit, killed and left to rot by the new Security Guard, with short black hair. He’s forced to watch as the children, his friends, his family, all he has, Susie, Gabriel, Charlie, Fritz, Jeremy, and Cassidy are given peace, and closure. He watches as they glow, all smiling brightly as their souls ascend into the beyond._

_As they move on._

_All of them._

_Without him._

_The animatronics point to the marionette, and the Security Guard comes over, picking up the little puppet, staring into it curiously. Nate screams to him. With every fibre of what’s left of him, he yells and screams and begs and pleads to be allowed to go like the others but the Security Man puts him down again, before picking up the music box that the Night Guard would play every night._

_“I hope you find peace.” he says before turning the key._

_The music box grinds into life and plays the same tune it always does. And Natemare, though dead, dies a little inside every time it plays. He loses a little more hope, a little more joy, while that spark of anger grows_ ……

Abe stands over Natemare’s unconscious body, trembling fingers clasping the music box as it plays its forbidden tune.

“I’m sorry kid,” he mumbles, feeling a tremendous amount of guilt, “but I’m done waiting.”

As the second verse of the song begins, the main doors to Fat Man Slim’s swing open as though they’d never been locked, a great waft of stale air rushing in to blow about them. Throwing the replenishing whiskey shot glass against the wall with a satisfying smash, Abe bends down and wraps the kid’s arm around his neck, pulling him up to his feet. Probably best not to leave this potentially-powerful-though-currently-weakened individual to the mercy to whatever the hells is going on out there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you confused as to what happened to Natemare at the beginning of this chapter, another Nate ego was partially erased, and the pain was simultaneously felt by [Natemare](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14110158/chapters/42365696), [Rowan (robo!Nate)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14110158/chapters/42339659), [Seb (data!Nate)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14110158/chapters/42406289), and [Daniel Wickes (Nate ego inspired by The Wrecked and the Worried)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14110158/chapters/42691469).


	9. Sooner or Later...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ...someone had to fall.

The Detective pulls the note from the box he’s just unlocked, holding it aloft as he reads it.

‘ _Kill yourself or kill your friend, you decide how this one ends._ ’

Beneath the paper confetti, a bright pink loaded revolver sits, waiting. No frills, no flair. Just a gun, and a choice.

As he pulls it from the box, all about him is chaos, loud noises, streamers, confetti, confusion, weirdness and mess that he honestly can’t keep up with. This place is a nightmare and the worst part of it is his brother, Lucas, on the other side of the arena, still pawing through boxes. The Madman hasn’t noticed the gun and doesn’t seem to hear someone outside of the game screaming for Dirk to just shoot him already.

And he should, after all how much of his brother is left in there? Sharp taloned fingers, both arms, both eyes, his hair, nearly every visible part of him is this slick shiny black. All that remains is the majority of the left side of his face. Dirk raises the revolver, squaring it up to shoot at Lucas’s chest.

It would almost be a mercy wouldn’t it? Releasing his brother from the sickness that’s consuming him? I mean he looks like a monster, and it’s taken a while, but now Dirk sees that unmistakable sheen to the blackness that covers him. The kind of sheen you only really see on ink…. Lucas is sick, and Dirk knows where it came from.

Still, seconds tick by, and he just can’t squeeze the trigger.

Lucas has noticed by now, tossing his own key aside and raising his arms to his sides in a show of surrender, though the scowl on his face never leaves. He’s probably figured out what’s going on.

“Come on then!”

This game started with how many people? Twenty? Thirty? He can’t remember any more, the night dragging on forever, the pain and the loss all blurring together in an unending stream of hurt and suffering. His sanity has only survived this long by simply washing his hands of what’s happened.  _He’s_ not the one who’s killed these people. It’s the  _game_! It’s the  _monsters_!  _They’re_  the one who put them in here! It’s all  _their_ fault! Not his!

Except….

How hard has he fought to try and keep people alive? How many people did he allow to walk to their possible deaths knowing one of them won’t come back? Dirk has had so many chances,  _so many chances_ , to stop this, or at least to try, and he never has. Not once. The only difference is this time, they’ve literally put the trigger in his hand.

“COWARD!”

Dirk’s aim wavers. Can he do this? Can he  _actually_  shoot and kill someone? Does life  _really_  mean so little to him? ….No. Someone has to draw the line. Someone has to say ‘Enough is enough’ and at this point, he’s the only one who can. He lowers the gun, closing his eyes as he lets out the breath he didn’t realise he was holding.

“What are you doing?” 

“I won’t do this.” He tosses the gun aside. It clatters to the floor and lays there. He won’t use it. “I won’t be a part of this  _sick game_  any more.”

Lucas points a clawed finger across at him, anger peeling off him as he shouts, “You  _know_ killing me is the right choice!”

Dirk shakes his head. “I don’t know that.”

“They’ll kill you if you don’t!”

If Dirk didn’t know any better, he might think his brother sounded desperate, but even so, the Detective shrugs, “Then I guess it’s my turn to die.”

Lucas screams, a loud human, gutteral scream of frustration. He’s supposed to be smart! This is the only option! The game makers aren’t going to let them create a third one! If they don’t play by the rules, then Dirk is going to die and, with Liza’s screams echoing in his head, Lucas refuses to let that happen.

“Then I have one thing to say…” The two of them stare at each other across the chaos, Dirk determined, Lucas angry. This is not going to end well. “Activate Protocol 12.”

“….what?”

Lucas launches himself across the arena, Dirk barely having time to react. They collide with a horrid thud, falling to the ground. Talons slash, over and over, cutting and tearing at the Detective’s leather jacket. His cries are more from shock than actual pain. When the flailing stops, Lucas has the upper hand, pinning his brother to the floor, one hand around Dirk’s neck, the Detective’s fingers trying to hold them from just breaking his neck. Everyone watches with bated breath as a clawed hand raises, priming to strike, to tear out the Detective’s stomach when-

_BANG_

Lucas drops, a dead weight on top of the Detective. The grip on his neck loosens and Dirk turns to see Lucas’s droid inside the arena, the discarded gun in his hands, smoking barrel pointed at the two of them.

“What are you-?”

_BANG_

_BANG_

_BANG_

The weight on top of him shakes with each impact and Dirk flinches, amazed that none of the bullets hit him but still staring in shock, completely at a loss.

Gun still raised, the droid strides over, using its foot to kick the slumped form off the Detective, keeping the weapon trained on him as it bends down and drags Dirk to his feet.

Dirk grips at the hand on his shoulder, feet scrabbling as he stands, stepping back, mind gripped by shock as he stares at the body on the floor. Lucas doesn’t move. He doesn’t shift or shake, doesn’t breathe or even twitch. He’s dead.

“You killed him.”

“Trust me,” the droid turns him around so Dirk can’t see any more, hand still gripping tightly. It doesn’t trust the boy to stay back from the ‘body’, so it will hold on until they leave this place in the dust, and the sooner the better, “he’s not dead.”

“Not dead? You  _shot_ him!” Dirk tries to pry the droid’s fingers from his jacket but it’s pointless, and they continue to leave the arena.

“Well  _you_  weren’t going to.” The droid’s voice sounds smoother than Dirk remembers, more human. There is definite snark in there that wasn’t there before, and that scowl has to be something it learned from Lucas because to this point, it’s done nothing but smile.

Calliope says something before they leave but Dirk doesn’t listen,. He knows what happened and at this point he doesn’t care. He was trying to do  _good_ , to do the  _right thing_  and it still went sideways. Now there’s this dull ache in his stomach, just beneath the slowly amassing pile of survivor’s guilt, and he doesn’t see an end to this horrible night..


End file.
